


Hot Soup

by esteefee



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-21
Updated: 2011-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 20:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve hab a code. Ib hid nobe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Soup

**Author's Note:**

> For [President's Day Fandom Blow-Out](http://sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com/576290.html)!

Steve could already hear Danny’s complaining through the heavy front door as he fumbled with the shiny new deadbolts. With his eyes all blurry, though, he was having trouble seeing which way to turn the locks. The angry monologue wasn’t helping any.

 _”Seriously, because you know this is my day off without Grace, my day for _lounging_ , and what? What could possibly be taking so long, McGarrett, not to mention you’d better have a pretty dramatically good reason for dragging me out here—”_

Finally, Steve managed to wrench _both_ locks in the proper direction and get the door open. And there was Danny standing on his front step, face already a little ruddy and mouth still going, rant-mode fully engaged.

“—I’m talking volcano, or tsunami—a real one this time, thank you very much—or flash-flooding in the hinterlands, or a level five _hurricane_ ; or, barring natural disasters, a terrorist attack on the visiting Queen of _England_ , my friend. Because this is my _Sabbath_ you’re desecrating here, do you understand me?”

“Hiya, Danny.”

Danny grimaced and pushed past him. “Comprenez-vous ‘day off’ in Navy-speak? It’s the same as going for a leisurely twenty kilometer slog through the jungle hoisting a rubber raft filled with bricks, only minus the bricks, the rubber raft, and the jungle, and instead you throw in watching the tube and munching on Doritos...” Danny spun around in the center of the living room and gave him a critical once-over. “You look like ten flavors of crap.”

Steve snuffled into some toilet paper and tried not to look pathetic.

Danny giggled. The motherfucker _giggled._ “You caught the cold that I got from Gracie, didn’t you? Oh, yes, you did. You caught the cold that you very specifically and vehemently denied, with great umbrage—”

“Umbrage.” Steve crossed his arms, then curled his lip when the cold, slimy toilet paper touched the skin under his elbow.

“Umbrage, offense, your great, big manly _macho_ was dented at the mere _idea_ your immune system could succumb to my wimpy, wussie little germs, and yet here we are—”

Steve sighed, because he did want to take umbrage at the smirky bastard but, yeah, here they were, and Steve felt like crap. His left eye watered suddenly, and he used the dry end of the slimy paper to dab at it. “Here we are,” Steve agreed hoarsely. “So keep laughing, Danny-o, because this is all your fault.”

“Oh, _my_ fault!”

“Yep.” Steve went over to the couch and plopped down with a groan, then tossed the soggy paper and grabbed the roll to peel off some fresh. He really wanted to blow his nose; it sounded like an awesome idea, except for the fact his entire sinus cavity was one giant block of cement.

He had been a total ass last week. Because he never got sick. Never. He’d felt bad for Danny, though, and brought him soup, and hot tea, and every time Danny tried to wave him off, warning him to stay back or he’d get sick, Steve had thought smugly, _not a chance._

Besides, it had felt good to do something nice for Danny. Danny was _letting_ him, was the thing, in spite of the cranky predictions. So Steve brought him Tutu Kapule’s afghan that was all soft from being washed a million times, and a bucket of oxtail soup from Anakē Māhoe’s Shack—that stuff could cure the effing _plague_. And he ignored Danny’s wavy hands of warning.

“ _My_ fault, when I did everything short of wear yellow bio-hazard tape on my person?”

“Okay,” Steve said, gravel-pitched, “maybe not so much your fault. But it’s your hitchhiking germs’ fault. And I need tea.” And oxtail soup, he didn’t say.

Danny clomped over to stand above him, hands on his hips. “Lemme get this straight, just so I understand.”

Steve tilted his aching head against the couch back and slitted his eyes open. They started watering again immediately. “Go.”

“You texted me over here with 0-5-0, which we all know means urgent 5-0 business, but not a deadly emergency. And when I rush my fanny on over here, _on my lounging day off_ , it is to learn that the oh-so-freaking important business is that the big, tough, Navy SEAL wants to be _coddled_?”

Steve could feel his eyebrows getting tighter and tighter, and blamed it on the congestion. He jutted his chin. “Not _coddled_. Jesus. It’s just—my kitchen is empty.”

Danny giggled again.

“Not _coddled_ —” Steve insisted helplessly, “just. Tea. And hot soup.” He stopped to inhale tightly. “It has to be Anakē Māhoe’s because that stuff will make it possible for me to fucking breathe again.”

Danny’s eyes narrowed dangerously, “Oh, _I”ll_ make you breathe—”

Steve had a come-back, really, but then he coughed, more than a little wetly, and winced when it rasped his throat. He could swear there was gravel or something grinding away in his lungs instead of air.

The frown on Danny’s face wavered, flashed to concern, then back to annoyance before settling on exasperation. “Didn’t you even—you need to take something for that congestion or your throat will get all—don’t you know _anything_ about being sick? Seriously? And your nose is all red like you’ve been rubbing it with sandpaper.”

Steve coughed again. Not on purpose or anything. But this time Danny sighed and said, “Anka whosit, again?”

Steve sniffed and very carefully did not smile.

:::

So, this was much better, because in addition to the tea and the soup, all of a sudden there was cough stuff and tissues that were really, really easy on his nose, and Steve had his afghan back, but the very best part of all was Danny.

Danny was right there and complaining the whole time but in a quiet, grumbly way all about how Steve was an idiot and didn’t know how to take care of himself, which might have had a small bit of truth to it, but it wasn’t really Steve’s fault. He never got sick, so he didn’t have a lot of practice at it.

But Danny was here, puttering around and giving him medicine and bringing him “fluids, you need lots of fluids, and I’m not talking beer, McGarrett.” And Danny even pressed his cool hand to Steve’s forehead, and made tsk’ing noises and fed him Tylenol and soup and juice, and Danny must be an _awesome_ dad to Grace, Steve thought, his heart giving a little stab like it always did whenever he thought about that.

He really shouldn’t think about that. Shouldn’t, didn’t, at least not usually.

But this was really nice, Steve thought muzzily, tucked on the couch next to Danny watching college hoops. Maybe it was the super-strength cough syrup, but he was feeling this warm glow leaning against Danny, and it made Steve realize they didn’t get to spend enough quality time together not getting shot at.

They should do this more often. Only, maybe when Steve’s left eye wasn’t watering. He turned his head and pressed it against the convenient shoulder just hanging out right there, and that was pretty comfortable, since he was pretty tired.

He woke up at one point and realized he was horizontal and his head was now in Danny’s lap. The game was a wash of sound, the announcers’ voices low and incomprehensible, and Danny’s hand was resting on his shoulder. Just resting there, solid and comforting and all sorts of right.

“Hey,” Steve said, or tried to say. His voice wasn’t cooperating.

Danny’s thigh got a little tense under his cheek. “Hey, yourself.”

“Is this—is this too weird for you?” Steve was still half-asleep, but he thought he should ask. Better ask. He rubbed his cheek against Danny’s leg to illustrate the question, and Danny twitched.

But after a short pause, Danny said, “Nah. Or maybe my weird-o-meter is busted after working with you for so long, Steve. You ever think of that?” But his voice was awfully soft, and his hand came off Steve’s shoulder and ran through his hair, giving Steve little shivers of goodness.

He made an appreciative sound and then raised his hand. “Need a tissue.”

A snort of disgust came from above his head. “Yes, your highness.” Danny leaned over him, and for a long moment Steve was surrounded by Danny—the scent of him, and his warm chest pressed against Steve’s back, and his arm curled around Steve’s head—almost exactly like a hug. Then Danny passed a tissue into his hand.

Steve smiled to himself and blew his nose with the ultra-soft tissue. Perfect.

“Anything else I can get you, your royal-pain-in-the-assness?”

Flipping over so he could press his face into the warmth of Danny’s belly, Steve said, “Nope. This is just right. Thanks.” He felt Danny’s stomach stutter a little in surprise.

“I’m happy to oblige,” Danny said, only a little sarcastically. His thumb stroked along Steve’s hairline once before his hand returned to Steve’s shoulder. “Just don’t go blowing your nose on my shirt.”

“No promises.” Steve pushed closer. Through his congestion he could faintly pick up the scent of clothing detergent and Danny. He was just starting to drift off again when he jerked back awake.

“What now, you freak?”

“Felt like I was falling.” His voice was even hoarser than before.

Danny’s whole arm came down around to trap him, warm and close. “There you go, princess. Now, go to sleep so you can get better and stop being a pain in my ass.”

Steve was grinning as he fell back asleep.

 

 _End._

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Hot Soup [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6888970) by [librarychick_94](https://archiveofourown.org/users/librarychick_94/pseuds/librarychick_94)




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